


You and no other

by clarasimone



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Courtly Love, Cunnilingus, Erotica, F/M, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Knight, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Passion, True Love, Unrequited Love, Woman on Top, priapism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone
Summary: When Ser Jorah Mormont is injured after a raid to capture a wight, Daenerys Targaryen orders she be left alone to tend to her knight. The fever he suffers from is not one any maester can cure.





	You and no other

**Author's Note:**

> This 3-part short narrative was written in response to a challenge and prompt posted by @wizfrog on Tumblr, in August 2019, which read as follows:
> 
> "Small Request: Can anyone write this somewhat crack jorleesi fic for me, pls - Jorah gets concussed, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t remember who Daenerys is or much of the last X years. Extra special : if at some point when he and Dany are talking through things, Jorah sees a look in her eyes and asks if they were lovers. Anyway - would be a fun way to bring her face to face with certain things about her relationship with Jorah."
> 
> I believe I strayed from the hoped-for tone but otherwise, I hope I delivered ;-)
> 
> This is my first fanfic in more than 20 years. I was of course trapped in an iceberg which abruptly melted this spring thanks to one amazingly talented thespian, and the encouragements of a small group of wonderful thirsting ladies on Tumblr. 
> 
> My special thanks and admiration go to @houseofthebear who showed me the way.

**PART 1 **

Her Knight is lying in her bedchamber, on her bed that is, where she asked them to put his bloodied body. Winterfell’s maester suggested the infirmary but Daenerys won’t hear of it. Ser Jorah has risked his life to bring back a wight, a foolish endeavor if there ever was one, and he has even saved Jon’s life. Therefore, not one living soul will keep her from tending to her general’s wounds herself. It’s the least she can do for him. Her brave, foolhardy Knight. She knows why he did this of course. She left him no choice really: what else can he do to prove his valor and devotion and love to her if she keeps insisting on this distance between them, if she keeps bringing to her bed these younger men, unworthy for the most part, even Jon. A crucial political ally, to be sure, and someone who stirs something deep in her…but a soul mate? No, of course not. Then again, is there such a thing as soul mates? Strange thoughts to entertain but Daenerys finds herself unable to focus on anything else while tending to Jorah’s wounds, amidst a whole array of helping hands…until all sounds fade away. Her hand holding a wet cloth to Jorah’s forehead, Daenerys freezes for a second, her eyes taking in her Knight’s manly form, ensconced in her white sheets, his head resting on her very pillow. He looks like he’s always belonged there. A maid brushes her aside and breaks the spell, irritating Daenerys.

«All of you, leave now. »

Assured that Jorah is out of danger, Daenerys wants to tend to him herself. Alone. It should be just the two of them, the way it was in the desert. Oh, why were they not still in Essos? Daenerys’ thoughts have been tormenting her ever since her arrival in Westeros – is her quest what it should be? Are her actions legitimate? Do the people here even want "The Wheel" to be broken? etc… And she discovered she only experiences true peace while in the presence of her Knight. She just has to turn to him -he is never far; he belongs at her side- she just has to look into his eyes, and she knows. She knows if she is right or foolish, in danger or safe. He simply needs to smile at her with his eyes and…

«You came back.»

Daenerys is startled out of her reverie by Jorah’s deep, scorched voice. And there they are, those deep blue eyes looking at her with such… wonder. She would think their expression strange, given time to reflect, but seeing Jorah trying to raise himself out of bed, she applies herself to setting him back down on her pillows. Which proves to be harder than expected. Even injured, her Knight is a force of nature.

«Jorah… please! » Has she often called him by his first name, without referring to him by his title first? Does it matter?… «Of course, I came back. I would not leave you behind, not when…»

Daenerys stops her mid-sentence because Jorah has lifted his hand to her cheek. «You are more beautiful than when last I saw you. How is that possible? »…

She should gasp or chastise him, but she does neither. Transfixed by Jorah’s amorous, immodest, completely open glance, all Daenerys finds herself able to do is wet her parched lips. She isn’t even sure she understands or even recognizes her Knight. These words. The unguarded expression in his eyes. He’s never dared look at her this way, not even that day in Essos when…. and, oh Gods, now he is caressing her cheek. And before she can stop herself, Daenerys finds herself leaning into the caress and putting her own hand lightly over her Knight’s, her fingers shaking a bit —moved beyond reason. Yet she has to find her voice again, her queenly voice with a dash of jest in it, to break this strange spell.

«Jorah, you are injured and speaking nonsense. » Taking Jorah’s hand in hers to squeeze it, Daenerys endeavors to push his frame back down on the bed, but Jorah gently fights her, pulling her hand to his chest to whisper close to her face, «How… How is it that you are here by my side though surely I am still not worthy of your grace? »

Gods, what is happening to him? Fighting the urge to run away, Daenerys finds herself whispering to her Knight, «I have long forgiven you, sweet Ser, you know this. Now lie. Rest. I command it. » But Jorah won’t have any of it. «If this is true, if indeed I have redeemed myself in your eyes, then tell me… why? Why do you continue to break my heart so? »

_W-What?_ Daenerys feels her knees buckle from under her and she needs to lean on the bed, her hand reaching for Jorah’s face to search his eyes. Something is amiss. This is not right. But Daenerys can’t fathom what. She can only hear herself answer in a shaky voice, «Jorah, shall I tell you of all the many nights I cursed myself for turning you away, for banishing you…»

«Then take me back! » O what fervor in these words as Jorah once more finds the strength to pull himself up on one of his elbows, his face just inches away, his free hand bringing Daenerys’ fingers to his lips to kiss them fervently. «Take me back… _and let me into our bedchamber_. »

And that’s when she finally understands. Ser Jorah, her Knight, her forever Knight, is not addressing her, but his wife, his long-gone wife Lynesse. And with the reckoning, a searing pain, like a dagger through her heart strikes her where she stands.

**PART 2**

It takes Daenerys a few seconds to find her bearings and her voice back, and when she manages to raise her eyes to Jorah again, she’s unable to hide the hurt in them… though she doubts he can see it: her Knight sees past her, her Knight doesn’t even recognize her.

And why does this hurt so immensely?

«Jorah…»

«My love? »

Gods, please make him stop… Daenerys shuts her eyes and opens them again. She has to find a way to not let this get to her. Jorah is not himself; he’s injured. This is a momentary lapse. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean that all this time, it was Lynesse that held his secret heart captive. And that she, Daenerys, was but a pale surrogate, a reminder of what he had lost and maybe could taste anew if she’d let him. But she hadn’t. She should be glad she hadn’t, then why wasn’t she? …_Stop it. Stop it now_, Daenerys is silently ordering herself.

«My love, what is it? » These words again. And his voice. Had she really listened to his voice before?… If this does not stop, she will go mad. But it doesn’t stop because now his hand is moving to her forearm. Daenerys looks at Jorah’s bruised hand caressing her skin, and it’s giving her gooseflesh. His palm is so warm, his whole body radiates warmth. Jorah is so close to her again… Raising her eyes to his, she feels her breath catch: How could Lynesse let go of this man who loved her so? Who looked at her like this, every day?

«No one has ever looked at me that way, » Daenerys hears herself say out loud, «the way you do now. I wish… I wish I had let you before. »

Confused, something wavers in Jorah who can only smile and… Oh but she knows _that _smile, the bashful smile he gifts her from time to time, and recognizing her Knight in that instant somehow gives Daenerys the strength she needs to navigate through the charade which fate has imposed on them. At least until Jorah falls asleep. She sets both her hands on her Knight’s naked shoulders, marveling briefly at the sinewed muscles underneath the scars left by the greyscale, the malady he would not have incurred had she not banished him… and wincing inwardly at the thought, she gently sets Jorah back unto her pillows, fluffing them against the headboard of her bed, all the while feeling her patient’s amorous glance following her every move.

«And no one has ever fussed over me the way you do now, » Jorah whispers, one of his hand reaching out to brush along the silk of Daenerys’ garment.

«Haven’t I? » The question comes out rather abruptly, and Daenerys checks herself. She meant to speak as Lynesse but the question applies to her too, and she finds she despises both Lynesse and herself. She also realizes, with a start, that she is jealous. Jealous of the woman she is embodying just now in the eyes of her Knight. Her Knight. Hers. 

«Have I never fussed over you, my…darling? » The word makes Daenerys blush.

«No, and you know so. » Now it is Jorah’s turn to sound and look hurt. And Daenerys feels it deeply. Moved, and feeling guilty, both as Lynesse and as herself, she reaches out and takes Jorah’s hands in hers.

«I have been horrid to you, haven’t I? » There, she said it. Who knew pretending could leave one completely free to utter the truth?

Jorah’s face twitches slightly, the hurt there even more visible now, but he doesn’t say anything.

«Jorah, I wish… I wish I could undo everything. » And that, again, is the truth. The whole truth. Years and years of unrequited love she wishes she could undo. Nights in Essos they will never get back. What has she done? Is it too late for them?… Tears are welling in Daenerys’ eyes. «I have made such a mess of things. » She steals a glance towards Jorah and the love she sees again in his eyes just cuts through her, making her ravenous for that very sentiment that is cruelly not directed at her. _Love me_, she thinks. _Love_…

Daenerys doesn’t hear the end of her inner plea because all of a sudden she feels herself engulfed in the warmest embrace possible, her bear’s strong arms pulling her to his chest. «Hush, hush… My love…» Holding on for dear life, Daenerys buries her face in the nook of Jorah’s shoulder, one of her hands clinging to his neck, her cheek brushing desperately against the gruff of his beard, to better feel him, to mark her skin with him. She wants to put her open mouth on the artery pulsating on his neck but if she does, she won’t simply kiss Jorah, she’ll sink her teeth in his skin so as to brand him and never let go. Daenerys never thought possible such an unleashing of emotions. She is crying in her Knight’s arms and it frightens her.

«Shhhhh, my love, I am here. There is nothing to forgive. » Between every passionate utterance, Jorah kisses a part of Daenerys’ face: her eyelids, the tears on her cheeks, the line of her jaw, her temples, her hair, a trail of adoring kisses which leaves her breathless. «We shall go back to Bear Island. I will carve us a bed in which I will cherish… and worship… and ravish you… every day… and every night. »

_Don’t think, just hold on to his words, just get lost in them. Believe them to be meant for you, _is all Daenerys can think about, her thoughts as feverish as her skin wherever Jorah kisses her.

«I have seen us in my dreams, in our Keep, your eyes so different from before, like the rarest of gemstones and so bright with laughter… Love, look at me. » Shaking, Daenerys raises her eyes to Jorah’s who cups her face in his hands to bring her lips next to his, his next words brushing over her panting mouth: «Listen to me. There is only us now. You need but wish it so. »

There is only us now. _By the Gods, why not? Why not embrace this folly? Let this “us” be him and I, right now, before he wakes up, before I am Queen again_. Finding all her beautiful, regal strength back, Daenerys shifts in Jorah’s arms to be the one embracing him, her face over his, her silky form pressing against his torso, her hands snaking their way to the back of his neck, until with one final look into her Knight’s adoring, pleading eyes she presses her swollen lips to his, moaning her consent.

**PART 3**

_Even through his fever, the assault to his senses is formidable. These lips, her scent, the silkiness of her hair cascading down her back. He feels his hand scooping it up as he presses her head even closer to his ravenous mouth. He’s dreamed about this, but this is no dream…_ With a start, Jorah breaks the kiss, making the goddess is his arms moan for more against his mouth, but he must look into her eyes.

Violet eyes. Amethyst eyes. Daenerys’ eyes. And it all comes rushing back in Jorah’s feverish mind. His queen tending to him, his immodest confessions, his confusion. As if he could ever mistake one for the other… Though he loved Lynesse, everything he said, just now to his Queen was transfigured by her very essence; doesn’t she know? Jorah almost tells her, and then stops himself. No rationale can make him forgive himself for making his Khaleesi cry. And kiss him. Under false pretenses. …Gods, what has he done?

Daenerys is shaking still as she tries to prolong the kiss but she quakes when she sees her Knight’s stormy eyes penetrate her very soul. Who is he seeing? If she wants more, it has to be Lynesse, doesn’t it? « Jorah, you said there is only us now, if I wish it. Well, I wish it. Do you hear me? Tell me you’ve forgiven me. » Jorah wants to speak but can’t utter a word for fear he’ll make matters worse and chase her away.

Misinterpreting his silence, Daenerys cups his face again, running her fingertips through his beard, brushing her thumbs on his parted lips where she feels his warm breath come quicker, and though her heart is on the edge of breaking again for keeping up the charade, her voice is like that of a siren: « Tell me we’re back on Bear Island. Tell me I am your wife… » Jorah has to kiss her to stop her from saying more, from perpetuating the lie. She is so much more than Lynesse could have ever hoped to be. She is his all. But she’s in his arms because he’s made her believe only Lynesse belongs there… and because through make-believe, she doesn’t have to be the Queen and he, her lowly Knight. Jorah knows as much, he’s always known as much, even now as he still tries to battle the fever that made him see her as Lynesse for a brief moment. If he tells her the truth, he will lose her. And by the Gods, he will die before letting that happen…

« Arghhh…. », Jorah hisses through the searing pain, his train of thought and his kiss interrupted. Pulling Daenerys to him, and wanting to turn her over in his arms, has torn into his side. Instantly alarmed and contrite, Daenerys pulls back, gasping, and her hand flutters to Jorah’s ribcage.

« It’s nothing, » he tries to persuade her, but seeing her wanting to lift his bandages, he rasps quickly: « No, don’t touch! »

Daenerys shoots a knowing glance at her general but abides as he tightens his lips, and breaths hard through his nose, shaking his head. « It’s nothing, I tell you» he murmurs again, grabbing Daenerys’ wrist to stop her from leaving his side when she starts to move away. His Queen fights him then: « Jorah, let me just… »

« No! I have fought a thousand battles and I have seen death with my own eyes. Do you believe for one second I will let a flesh wound make you leave our bed? »

_Our bed_. The very words make Daenerys’ sex clench, honey rushing through her secret folds, and she bites her lip, ashamed to feel this swell of desire when her Knight, clearly, is trying to hide the extent to which his body is suffering. Sweat pearls on his brow and his face is flushed.

« You’re running a fever, » Daenerys gasps, « If your wounds have been infected…» She starts to move away again, but Jorah doesn’t let her escape. He tugs on her waist and pulls her to him. « Love, I don’t care. Let the fever devour me. »

His heart is beating so fast. Unless it’s hers, she doesn’t know any longer. But the way his body tenses under her touch, the wild fire in his eyes, it almost scares her. Never breaking eye contact, she hushes him to silence, kissing him lightly on the lips, as if to calm him, her domesticated bear. « Let me just reach for the wet cloth… » Which he lets her, breathing hard… and he starts a bit when she presses it against his cheek and to his forehead, each time replacing the cloth with a kiss when she is done refreshing him. But in doing so, she fills her patient with her scent again and his eyes fall to the silky layers of her robe, opening on the alabaster of her bosom. A deep rumble of a growl escapes his throat.

That sound. That sound sends shivers up her belly to the pointy ends of her breasts and it takes all of Daenerys’ resolve to stop herself from brushing the garment aside. It is scorching her skin or she wants to beg Jorah to calm the aching of her flesh with his tongue. So, when she speaks next, she does so with a stutter: « Maybe, maybe the maester should have a look… »

« A look at what? » Jorah takes the hand he was still holding and applies it to his contracted abdomen, where the muscles tighten even more under Daenerys’ palm, under the reddish and violet bruises there, and amidst traces of caked blood she hasn’t had time to wash away. «A look at what? » Jorah repeats breathlessly as he guides his Queen’s hand down over his taut furry belly…

It’s her heart, after all, that was widely beating, because she can feel it in her mouth now. It’s constricting her throat as her eyes fall on the swell beneath the sheer linen covering Jorah’s manhood… next to which he’s stopped her hand, releasing it. 

Slowly raising her eyes back to Jorah's, Daenerys hears herself whisper breathlessly: «Your wounds are not causing this fever, are they? »

Jorah can only shake his head in acquiescence as he watches Daenerys look down again, and slowly pull on the bedsheet until she’s exposed his straining cock, a warriors’ cock the likes she has never seen. It stirs like a waking beast as she looks at it, making her part her lips. «Don’t…, » Jorah starts, in a deep rasp.

_Gods, don’t what?_ Daenerys wonders, holding her breath, her eyes once more locked with Jorah's.

«… leave our bed. Please. »

The violence of the discharge Daenerys feels shooting up her spine actually makes her body jolt, a tremor Jorah feels all the way down to his soul as he tugs at her once more. But there is no need to plead. She won’t escape. She never wanted to, to begin with…

Hearing Daenerys whisper those very words, Jorah lets go and can’t help the sigh escaping his lips when he feels her form cover his waiting body in a cooling cascade of silk. When next he opens his eyes, the amethyst beauty of Daenerys’ are peering down on him, so full of love and desire, he believes he must be dreaming after all.

Very carefully, Daenerys has straddled her Knight who is half reclining against her headboard. Her silken robe covers both their bodies and only the sides of her thighs are touching Jorah’s hips, for fear she could hurt him. Yet she bends down slowly to brush her lips against his. «Will you be mine, truly? » she whispers next to his mouth.

« I have always been yours, » Jorah breaths out… but that was a mistake! He sees the hurt shoot back in Daenerys’ eyes and so kisses her again to quiet the pain. He damns himself for slipping like this. His Khaleesi still believes he is referring to Lynesse. How can he make her understand without risking to scare her away?

Indeed, it does hurt. And so, all of a sudden, the dragon stirs. _Oh no, he shan’t be yours, Lynesse…_ It is Daenerys who now kisses Jorah, teasing his mouth open with her tongue. Slowly, voluptuously, she traces there secret incantations that make him moan, in this deep velvety rumble she’s already addicted too. _Feel this, my Knight? Did she ever kiss you like this? Or tortured you so? _Pulling back, Daenerys transfixes Jorah as she disrobes, one layer of silk at a time, watching his Adam apple bob painfully in his throat… and feeling his manhood throb underneath the honeyed curls of her mound, which she very carefully keeps hovering over his sex in a teasing flutter. Finally, she parts with the last of her shimmering undergarments and, sighing, brings her hands to her breasts to tease them, never breaking eye contact with her feverish Knight who moans once more, in agony… Only then does she lower her mound enough to caress the full length of Jorah’s burning shaft with her wetness, crushing it to his lower abdomen, turning his moan into an actual growl. _No, she’s never had you this way, did she?_ Seeing the power she holds over her Knight’s heart and flesh, Daenerys is consumed by desire, and she finds herself undulating slowly on the cock she keeps pressed between them, kneading her pearl in the process, and completely wetting him from crown to sac. The sensation makes them both shiver in delight…

… and Jorah almost utters Daenerys’ name. He wants her to know he sees _her_ and not Lynesse, and what he cannot say with words, his body wants to spell out. His hands shoot up to Daenerys' hips… but she catches them before they can sink into her flesh.

« No, you are injured, remember? » If the circumstances were different, Daenerys’ voice would be playful but the passion and possessiveness she feels are so overpowering, her voice is dark with want. She will use every witch's spell she knows if need be. It is not Lynesse who will make him come. _It is I_, she thinks almost out loud.

Slowly releasing Jorah’s hands, she admonishes him: « You cannot touch, but you can watch. » And watch he does, his fists crumpling the linen to his sides to brace himself as Daenerys caresses herself, her fingers finding the opalescence she needs to tease herself from between her thighs, but also scooping it from Jorah’s shaft she never stopped caressing, and which she’s coated like some decadent dessert. She loves the sight of it, the honey pooling in Jorah's belly button where the crown of his thick cock reaches upon her kneading. « Have a taste, my Knight? » Her hand is not shaking when she regally presents Jorah with her creamy fingers but she feels her heart stir anew upon seeing the adoration in his eyes. His murmured words of worship and love snake their way into her soul, making her forget her plan. Making her want to come herself, for him… So, she gasps when Jorah delicately seizes her wrist and the rest of her hand to bring her fingers to his mouth, never breaking eye contact with her, and pulling her to him in the process, sucking one finger at a time, making her sex clench. She cannot help but continue to grind herself on her Knight’s steely flesh as he brings her closer to him, his free hand delicately exploring her back, from the roundness of her rump to the silkiness of her skin along her curved backside, shoulder, and neck. He can feel the tremors his caresses are provoking. He's never felt his cock being coated with such abundance. When he’s just about finished licking Daenerys’ fingers, her face is just above his, transfixed, and she can perfectly hear him whispering his devotion: « Love, let me worship you with my mouth. Am I not your bear? » 

_Her bear? Was he Lynesse’s bear? Isn't it she, Daenerys, who baptized him so? _

Daenerys is so tangled in her web of confusion that she barely notices Jorah maneuvering her body to his ravenous mouth. He’s brought her to a kneeling position, just over his face, and Daenerys swoons when his tongue rasps the length of her creamy folds and his lips lash unto her pearl. No man, no one, has ever taken her this way and she cries out Jorah’s name. She would fall from the bolts of pleasure shooting through her were it not for her lover’s strong forearms enfolding her cheeks and anchoring her hips, his mouth so lovingly securing itself around her secret lips.

Gods! This is not what she had planned but she hears herself pleading Jorah not to stop. It doesn’t take long before the pleasure waves are cresting and blinding her, and she can only ride them. And literally so, as she feels herself thrusting into Jorah’s expert caresses, marveling at the contrast of his rasping beard on her sensitive flesh and the softness of his tongue. Incoherent prayers leave her lips and feeling herself close to rapture, she slips both her hands through Jorah’s hair to hold his head to her mound as if to never lose him, to claim him and, oh gods, to come into his waiting mouth. And come she does, violently, her thighs shaking, her body tumbling, she doesn’t know how, until she feels herself softly landing inside her pillows, the warmth of Jorah’s whole body encircling her, protecting her from harm.

When she opens her eyes, her Knight’s face is above hers and there is so much joy in his eyes that Daenerys finds herself on the verge of tears. She sees him open his mouth to speak but she cuts him short: « Don’t… Don’t say a word…. » _Don’t speak her name._ Spasming still, she hears herself pleading for more. « Make me feel you, take me now… »

In his wildest dreams… Jorah swallows hard, looking deeply in Daenerys’ eyes. And then the dam breaks. Years of repressed passion get unleashed as he lifts Daenerys’ _petite_ form from the bed to his lips and limbs, while he is on his knees, claiming both her mouth and her honeyed core like a ravenous bear. In this position, he can clearly see Daenerys’ eyes as he penetrates her. He can breathe into her mouth. He can keep her crushed to his abdomen as he thrusts up, again and again, deeply, completely drunk on his Goddess' incoherent whimpers and the sting of his wounds reopening, the pain savagely spurring him on but keeping him from spilling his seed. He so wants to see Daenerys shatter for him again. He wants her to come all night so the night might never end.

She is so close again. It would be so easy to just throw her head back and climax, but she realizes she doesn't want the pretense of Lynesse between her and her Knight anymore. She wants Jorah to know whom it is he is so amorously ravaging. She wants him to recognize her. So, Daenerys slows their rhythm by snaking her hand between them until she closes her fingers around Jorah’s shaft, locking her eyes to his as he continues to penetrate her, but according to this new rhythm, and this caress, which makes every nerve ending in his cock tingle. « Jorah, do you feel me? I, and no one else? »

Of course, he does, her name is on his breath, it wants to escape his lips. But all he can do is kiss her deeply before letting her upper body tumble back unto the sheets for fear he will say it. 

In this position, Daenerys knows she is totally exposed to Jorah’s glance, she knows he can see himself spearing her swollen lips, and see the way she touches herself. It makes him harder, and makes her creamier in turn. She won’t last and neither will he; she is running out of time. « Jorah please… » Reaching the point of no return, Daenerys risks everything: « I beg you, my love… say my name. »

The words have not completely left her lips that she feels herself being pulled up again and held to Jorah’s abdomen in a tight grip, his look all at once feral and amorous and desperate, as his sex pushes deeply into his Queen. « Say that again! »

Transfixed, Daenerys can only comply: « I beg you my love… »

_She’s called him his love_… and so, before Daenerys can finish repeating her plea, Jorah’s answer spurts forth, making her gasp: «Daenerys! » And then more softly, like an incantation: « Daenerys…» his eyes making love to her. « It’s always been you, » he rasps, his arms guiding her body once more unto him, impaling her there.

« Jorah! Oh…» The pain and pleasure she feels are so intense, she can’t utter the words of love she meant to say. She can only, wantonly, amorously, let her Knight take possession of her flesh one final time, the last of his thrusts shattering her and making him growl upon his release, her name on his lips: « Daenerys, Khaleesi, my Queen!»

*******

In the morning, as Jorah wakes, his eyes adjusting slowly to the light, he finds Daenerys’ delicate fingers tending to his wounds again. Unless...she has just appeared and the night was a dream? The thought sickens him and, for a few seconds, he believes it to be true until he catches his Queen’s glance and the happiness in her amethyst eyes tells him otherwise. Relieved, Jorah reaches for her… and then, he can’t resist -because her smile is infectious- he freezes in mock-seriousness, stuttering: « My Lady, I fear I know you not and yet your eyes don’t lie… were we not lovers once?»

Shocked for a second, Daenerys bursts out laughing, when she realizes Jorah is teasing her. Completely disarmed, from the sheer surprise of seeing her Knight jest in earnest, she lets him pull her down next to him. Seeing the look in his eyes, she finds herself half worried he might eat her whole again —and reopen his wounds, which simply won’t do. But she lets him caress her and smile into her eyes. « Those are the gem-like irises I saw in my happy dreams of Bear Island; the ones I told you about during my spell. Did you not guess as much when I told you? These eyes could only have belonged to you, Khaleesi.» 

« _Vous et nul autre_ ? » she asks, cooing and quoting from the ancient oath*****.

« _Vous et nul autre, mon amour_ » Jorah murmurs, before gently taking her lips.

\--------------------

** _* "Vous et nul autre",_ ** _ an oath and poem carved on a famous French medieval ring which translates as: "You and no other"._

<http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O121716/ring-unknown/>


End file.
